


Stress Relief

by littlechinesedoll



Series: CDB_Commissions [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlechinesedoll/pseuds/littlechinesedoll
Summary: On nights Slade decided to take a break from clearing up targets, he let Bruce know. Bruce then in turn would decide to clear out his calendar, because like many other people who ran multinational conglomerates (who may or may not be vigilantes at night), he needed to do something to relieve all this stress.





	Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for @mitzvahmelting. Thank you xoxo

On nights Slade decided to take a break from clearing up targets, he let Bruce know. Bruce then in turn would decide to clear out his calendar, because like many other people who ran multinational conglomerates (who may or may not be vigilantes at night), he needed to do something to relieve all this stress.

When Bruce received the encrypted message last night, he called his secretary and personal assistant to clear out the next day for no reason, much to the chagrin of the two hardworking employees. He’d have to gift them something for putting up with his bullshit. He left the boys to Alfred, who asked no questions, and the city to the boys, who shared equal feelings of delight at being left to their own devices, and grabbed his car keys.

He arrived at the Gotham City Royal Hotel a little later, trying not to look like he was rushing out of the car, into the lobby, into booking the penthouse of the West Tower (he prefers it over the one in the East), and into the elevator, all without luggage. He didn’t even see the valet boy catch his keys when he threw them at him.

As soon as he was locked in the room, Bruce opened the terrace doors, waiting for Slade to gracefully stride in. Slade didn’t disappoint of course. Five minutes into letting the chilly autumn air in, the terrace doors clicked shut while Bruce poked the fire he got going to keep the room warm. Bruce turned from his spot on the floor, and Slade sauntered in, peeling off his jacket (Bruce thought it was probably Tom Ford) to hang it on the nearby chaise.

“You should dress like this more often,” said Bruce, moving to where Slade was standing in the receiving area.

“You’d better like it. I stole it off a human trafficking piece of scum after I put a bullet in his head,”

Bruce didn’t say anything more and pulled Slade into a kiss. They weren’t here to talk about what they’d been up to. The kiss wasn’t slow or languid, it was hard and desperate, like a craving that just couldn’t be sated.

“Off,” Slade hissed, pulling Bruce’s turtleneck up by the hem. “Get it off, c’mon, there’s a good slut.”

Bruce didn’t mind the sound of threads snapping as Slade carelessly pulled off the article of clothing, or the way Slade threw it almost too close to the fire. He quickly did away with his belt and pants before Slade decided rip them off him too. He wouldn’t have clothes to wear tomorrow.

Bruce let out a small gasp when one of Slade’s hands squeezed a breast while his mouth sucked a bruise on his neck. The mercenary’s warmth sent electricity down to his groin, and he’d much rather just fuck and get it over with than suffer through foreplay the both of them didn’t have the patience for.

Slade pushed him onto the bed, lost all of his grace, and boorishly pulled off all that Tom Ford. Bruce wasn’t one to keep his hands to himself, and moments after Slade’s slacks fell to the floor and were kicked to the side, Bruce pulled Slade down onto the bed.

The mercenary smirked in delight as Bruce fished for a bottle of lube in the drawer in the nightstand. Bruce popped the bottle open, coated his fingers, and got on his knees between Slade’s legs.

“I like a whore who knows what he wants,” Slade sat up, combing his fingers through Bruce’s hair as he brought his head closer to his hardened length.

Bruce never liked beating around the bush. He took Slade into his mouth, sucking on the head and licking the slit, before hollowing out his mouth to take more of Slade in. He slicked Slade’s cock up with his spit, making it easier for him to bob his head. With his lubed fingers, he reached down to his hole, and pressed in a thick finger. His own cock twitched and started to leak from the stimulation he gave his hole.

“You know, Bruce,” Slade breathed, enjoying the way Bruce was more into Slade’s pleasure than his own. Bruce was, quite literally, fucking his own mouth with Slade, triggering his gag reflex every few bobs when Slade would hit the back of his throat. “I’ve been to a lot of red light districts around the world, but none of their best whores compare to you.”

Bruce pulled off him. “Fuck me,” he gasped hoarsely, mouth red and bruised from misuse.

“Your own fingers not enough for you?” Slade grabbed his arm and threw him on the bed. No need to be gentle—Bruce was already in his headspace. He manhandled Bruce onto his knees.

“No,” Bruce mumbled into the sheets.

“Of course they’re not,” Slade didn’t bother with the lube. His dick was already slicked up enough from Bruce’s spit, and Bruce’s asshole was lubed up enough from his fingers. “What slut would want to come without a cock in his ass?” He gave Bruce’s thigh a painful slap before he pushed in without warning, and forced himself in when Bruce couldn’t control his muscles enough to let Slade in. “Take it, like the cockslut you are, Bruce.”

Bruce groaned. It hurt. He wasn’t wet enough. Not that Slade cared. But it did feel good to finally be stretched wide and full. “Fuck. Fuck, Slade…”

“That’s the idea.” Slade moved his hips, easily going into a fast rhythm Bruce wasn’t prepared for.

Bruce fisted at the sheets. There was no other to describe it—it was a struggle fuck. It had been a while since Bruce had had a good fuck, and that span of time made itself known through the veins and tendons on Bruce’s neck, and the blood rushing to the surface of his skin. He let out a sharp exhale, a mix between a whine and a grunt, when Slade grabbed a hold of his hips to hammer in harder.

“You’re a slut for a rough fuck, aren’t you, Bruce?”

And Slade’s smooth, baritone voice just wasn’t doing Bruce any favors. If anything, it was just helping him come faster.

“All these other men you let fuck you aren’t good enough, are they?”

Slade was right, too. He didn’t bother with non-metas anymore because there was just something about being handled by one.

Bruce found himself being pulled back with Slade’s hands in a fistful of his hair. The force of it made Bruce choke on his breath. “Fuck, yes!” Bruce managed to say in a breath. “Keep going!”

Slade didn’t need to be told twice. Bruce tightened around him, and he let go of his hair. Bruce’s face hit the pillows, and he buried his face in them as he went rigid and muffled his long grunts as he came untouched. Slade fucked him through it. Bruce went limp and quiet, but Slade continued and worked his way to his own release. He came a little later, pulled out, proud of what had become of Bruce’s hole—loose and gaping, and leaking come.

Bruce rolled over to see Slade wiping himself off on the now ruined sheets. “Not going to stay?” He threw the soiled sheets to the floor after wiping between his thighs.

“And leave you without a cock in your ass the rest of the night? I don’t think so,”

Bruce liked the sound of that.  


End file.
